


Vortex

by QueenTzahra



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, I still love you, M/M, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Reunions, making amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenTzahra/pseuds/QueenTzahra
Summary: You will open the yawning grave...! Many years after escaping from The Nautilus, Pierre Aronnax receives a mysterious letter with an apology, a request and a meeting place. He follows through, though he hardly dares to hope it will ease his grief. Sequel-ish to Darkness Brings Evil Things.
Relationships: Pierre Aronnax/Capitaine Nemo | Pierre Aronnax/Captain Nemo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Vortex

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Darkness Brings Evil Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502597) by [QueenTzahra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenTzahra/pseuds/QueenTzahra). 



> Hi, everybody! Are you all safe and healthy?
> 
> I hope so. I've been in quarantine since mid March and it's been... rough. Basically after three days I was at the point of "Oh, Almighty God, enough! Enough!" NYC is basically a hotzone hellscape, but thankfully I'm able to continue working and all the people I know who've gotten sick have recovered, so I'm quite fortunate. I miss my friends and clients, but I've been doing my best to cope with lots of audiobooks and writing, which brings us to...
> 
> This fic! This fic. Help me.
> 
> So I've been toying with this idea for a long time, because I think it's impossible to read 20,000 Leagues and not think "but what if Professor Aronnax returned to The Nautilus?" but I had no intention of actually writing it until ten days ago, because other people have already written these stories and do a way better job and I knew mine was going to be way sadder. Why'd I change my mind? I have no clue. I blame sheltering in place bringing up all my inner demons and finally finishing The Mysterious Island.
> 
> Yeah you guessed it! This is another total catharsis moment. Just like with Darkness Brings Evil Things I seriously debated posting it because it felt too personal, and then I thought well let me just add a little sexy bonus to lighten it, but then it didn't feel right, ugh kill me where I stand. It was rough going, let me tell you. I was in a right state for a good three days writing the first draft, it was intensely painful and brought up a lot of stuff for me, but better out than in, I guess. Thank you, Captain Nemo, for helping me express things I otherwise wouldn't be able to. Also a huge thank you to my boyfriend stuck in quarantine with me and all my friends online for being kind to me when I complained on Tumblr, and to PelagicNemo for answering my translation question! Also, you knew this was coming, listen to Lord Huron's songs The Yawning Grave and The Night We Met, my AronNemo angst anthems.
> 
> Okay let me shut up. Happy reading!

The night was dreadfully quiet. The chilly mist of rain and sharp, spiteful wind, remnants of that afternoon's storm, both muffled sound and kept people inside. However, Pierre Aronnax still felt as though he were being watched as he made his way through the dark, winding streets. Each of his footsteps on the slippery cobblestones sounded like someone else's, every gust of wind like a voice. He shivered and wished that he'd allowed Conseil to come with him, or at least accepted the drink he'd offered him "for nerves."

When he'd first told Conseil he wanted to come here, back in their apartment by the Botanical Garden, his usually impassive, unflappable expression had actually stiffened. "Is Monsieur sure this is the right decision?" He'd asked, polite as ever but unable to hide his concern. Pierre hadn't been able to answer him, except to remind him that he wasn't a foolish young man to be swept up by passions and impulses anymore. Conseil hadn't contradicted him, but still asked, "We won't mention this to Ned, though?"

"No. Not yet, anyway." Friends they might be, but around this situation Ned's capacity for understanding diminished entirely. Conseil had trouble understanding it too, and even though he was more supportive, Pierre had just stopped trying to explain.

He shivered again, trying to keep his wits about him, keep his breath and heart steady, keep his eyes ahead. He could just glimpse the English Channel through the window in his hotel room, and in the rainstorm it had been all churning grey waves and white caps. He wondered if it would be calmer now. What else he'd find there. How he'd feel.

The letter he'd received four months ago, the reason he was out in the dead of night in this cold, misty port city, was folded in neat thirds in his inner breast pocket. Since receiving it, he'd treated it like a living thing: carrying it with him everywhere, making sure it was protected and safe. "I've hardly seen Monsieur treat _specimens_ with such care," observed Conseil, again revealing concern.

Pierre took a sharp breath in as he rounded a corner that finally put him in sight of the port. It wasn't nearly as grand as Bordeaux or Portsmouth or New York, but that was to be expected. Piers in varying states of disrepair stood several feet apart along the shore, and though a few fishing vessels were moored there and one gas light sputtered feebly, it was deserted. The only sounds were the crashing waves and soft creaking of wood and ropes.

Pierre felt the letter against his chest as he remembered, suddenly and viscerally, boarding the Abraham Lincoln all those years ago. He closed his eyes for a moment, the shard of grief he'd been unable to shift since his sojourn on The Nautilus suddenly sharp in his chest. He shuddered, forced his eyes open again and hurried forward to stand under the sputtering gas light. He retrieved the letter from his inner breast pocket, keeping it shielded from the rain as he unfolded it. Despite countless rereads and compulsive checking, he never believed the date and time and place for long. However, it was the same as ever. ' _The eastern most pier_ ,' he read. He sighed heavily, tucked the letter carefully back into his pocket, then stepped forward into the darkness, towards the pier.

As the light faded behind him, he felt as if he were walking through his own memories of everything that had happened since his escape. Of being cared for by those villagers as he waited for the monthly steamer south, of reading through his own writing and then sending the manuscript to a publisher on an uncharacteristically angry whim, then wrestling with his guilt over telling the story, then reasoning _he'd_ never see it, only to be plunged into a profound sadness over the knowledge that _he'd never see it_. Supposedly Pierre had accepted this, as he'd signed copies and given speeches and answered questions, but was it acceptance when the grief was like a splinter he couldn't remove? Or when he'd experienced the entire range of emotions again when he'd received this letter?

He paused before the eastern most pier, and, feeling absurdly like he was to walk the plank in some pirate story, took a deep breath and stepped onto it. However, there was no sword poking him in the back to urge him forward, and it took him almost a full minute to start walking. He moved slowly, and his footsteps were barely audible and the end of the pier barely visible in the darkness and mist.

He hadn't believed the letter at first, because logically there was no way for him to contact him, or any reason. What did they have to say to each other? ' _It couldn't be, it_ couldn't _be!_ ' He'd thought, but there was no mistaking the handwriting, the ink or the paper, and Pierre's insides had glaciated and his eyes had burned. ' _How dare he, after all that had happened!_ 'But then he'd actually read the letter. ' _Is this really how he feels? Does he want me to come back? Does he still…?_ '

He'd kept the letter a secret, then spent the next week trying and failing to hide the pain, the grief, the other unnamable thoughts and feelings, until, unable to stand it, he'd broken down and shown Conseil.

"What will Monsieur do?"

"I'm not sure." Conseil nodded, then,

"If Monsieur will go, I will go." The words, the loyalty and the support had given Pierre the courage to actually examine the prospect, rather than just be overwhelmed by it all, and he'd come to his final decision a month ago. Pierre had told his colleagues at the museum he just needed time away from the city, and they'd arrived in the small port that morning.

He reached the end of the pier and looked out over the seemingly endless blackness before him. He had no idea if this would even work, if he'd even appear, if this wasn't all a huge mistake. But… He took a few deep breaths of misty rain and salt spray. He'd made his decision. He was where he was supposed to be. All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

Captain Nemo steered The Nautilus through the English Channel, his eyes fixed straight ahead on the water in the glow of her electric light. He couldn't feel the unruly waves or rough currents at this depth, indeed he could have left the piloting to his crew, but… For this particular mission, he had to do it himself. Besides, navigating was immeasurably comforting in its narrow, immediate focus. He barely noticed his heart pounding against his ribs, his shallow breathing in his clavicles, his slippery hands on the wheel, the yawning vortex of grief and fear behind his breastbone that had been churning since the maelstrom.

He heard someone appear at the door, and recognized the sturdy, heavy footsteps of his chief officer. "Do you need anything, Captain Nemo?" He asked, in the language of The Nautilus. He'd been asking the question all day, and Nemo's answer was still the same.

"No." He kept his eyes forward, and heard his chief officer come to stand beside him, grounded and reassuring as ever. Nemo wondered if he'd raise the same objections he had done for the last six months one more time. "What good will it do?" "You have your crew to think about!" "He's betrayed us with all this storytelling, why put us in harm's way?" Nemo had not been able to answer any of them, at least not in a way that would satisfy his second in command. The man had always respected Nemo as a visionary, always helped him to achieve and realize his ambitions, but this dream, this wish, this yearning, was one he didn't (indeed, one he couldn't) understand. They both knew it, but that didn't make the situation any less fraught. Some of the crew had sided with him, others with Nemo, but most had kept their opinions to themselves. The crewman who had found the book that had started all of this seemed to feel it was his fault, and Nemo hated the fear on his young face. The crewman who had suggested Nemo start writing letters as a way of coping with his grief had assured him he'd done nothing wrong.

However, once Nemo had made his decision, everyone on board had shown support. Perhaps they understood: Nemo had withdrawn from them after the South Pole too, though of course that hadn't-

"Captain?" Said his chief officer, bringing him back to the present.

"Yes?" The man stepped closer and said, in a low voice,

"Saubhaagy."

* * *

Pierre shivered yet again. The chilly, misty rain had settled into his jacket and hair. He clumsily lit a match with his cold hands to check his watch. Two minutes until the appointed time, and he'd already been waiting for twenty. Why had he gotten here so early? Had he just been afraid of missing him? That was, if he was coming at all. Pierre couldn't decide if that would hurt more or less. He had no idea what he'd even say or do were they reunited, but the idea of having to walk away empty handed after months of fear and hope and distraction was too painful to think about. His heart squeezed, almost as if to pull the letter in his breast pocket closer.

Random words and phrases from it appeared on the surface of his mind and echoed in his ears. "I'm so, so sorry." "If you never want to hear from me again, I understand." "I'd have left too, and though I never asked you for your word, I hoped…" "If you're willing to hear me out in person, and please believe me, there's no obligation, meet me-"

Pierre lit another match and checked his watch again. One minute to go.

"To Professor Aronnax," the letter had said, and Pierre's hands had shaken where they'd held it. He understood the sudden return to formality, but it had still caused his heart to tighten painfully around his grief. He reminded himself that he'd also made the shift, referring to him as Captain Nemo or just the Captain when both writing and speaking. Of course, even without the title, "Nemo" still kept them apart. He wasn't "no one," especially not to Pierre, and that implication had hurt. It had also been what their last, big argument had been about.

"It's this feeling of being alien to your deepest concerns that makes our situation unacceptable. Impossible." He could still see clearly Captain Nemo's expression. For the briefest moment, it might have softened, but then…

Pierre had only realized his mistake months later, while transcribing his journals. The words typed neatly on the page had shown, like an autopsy revealing the cause of a gruesome death, where he'd said the wrong thing. Could things really have been different, or were they already too far gone?

A sudden gurgling, sucking sound startled Pierre, causing his heart to jump into his throat. A few feet from the pier, the surface of the water began to froth and churn as though someone had lit a fire under it. Pierre gasped and clapped his hand to his mouth, his eyes fixed upon the water, until a bright electric light blazed from the depths, and he had to turn away.

* * *

His hands shaking violently, Nemo made his way down the central companionway, then climbed up onto the deck of The Nautilus. He barely noticed the cold, but blinked in the brightness, the individual drops of misty rain were lit up like diamonds in the electric glow. He had no thought of how dangerous this was, or of his own intense anxiety, or even of his own body as he concentrated with all his might on scanning the horizon, the black water and sky, the dark shapes of the little port town, and…

' _He's there!_ ' Both Pierre and Nemo thought at exactly the same time, and as they laid eyes on each other for the first time in years, the night became suddenly airless. His hand still over his mouth, Pierre wanted to step forward, to be sure of what he was seeing, but his legs seemed to have turned to stone. However, his heart knew what his stunned brain couldn't quite comprehend; he'd known that silhouette intimately and he knew it at once now. Nemo almost swayed where he stood as everything he'd been ignoring flooded back into his body. He managed to keep his wits about him, though his heart raced and his breath was harsh in his throat.

The Nautilus pitched a little in the current, and waves ebbed and flowed against its sides, the sound echoing as air seemed to return to the scene. For a minute longer, or perhaps an hour, a day, a year, Pierre and Nemo stood still, staring at each other, lit at odd angles by the phosphorescence. Eventually, and at exactly the same time, they both took a step forward. Then another. And another. Until they could see each other, really see each other.

Nemo looked exactly as Pierre remembered, though perhaps a few more lines had appeared around his eyes. He crossed his arms in a deeply characteristic gesture, and Pierre's throat burned as he was seized with a sudden, almost frightening desire to run to him and embrace him. However, the impulse vanished just as quickly. His hand fell shakily away from his face, and Nemo saw his mouth form the words, "My God…" He also saw the pain in his expression, and his first instinct was to blame himself for it. However, he didn't tap into the well of guilt inside him as he would usually have done. Instead he remained focused, staring into Pierre's still lovely face, his soft, intelligent eyes.

"You're really here," said Pierre, eventually. It was an observation, as though he were commenting on the species of fish they might find swimming around them.

"So are you," replied Nemo, his arms still crossed. They continued to stare at each other, silently hoping the other would give them direction, until they both acted at the same time.

"Would you-"

"I was-"

They looked away rather awkwardly, then back at each other.

"You first," said Nemo. Pierre recognized this as permission to dictate terms, and though he was taken aback, he was also heartened.

"Would you like to talk?" He asked, cautiously. "Like you said in your letter?"

"Only if you're amenable," replied Nemo in another quiet concession. Pierre bit down on the inside of his lip.

"Did you mean everything you said?"

"In the letter?"

"Yes." A pause.

"Every word." Another pause, almost painfully tense.

"Let's talk." Nemo nodded, hesitantly relieved, though with no idea where to go from there. It seemed presumptuous to ask him aboard, but it was cold and raining, and though he wasn't unwilling, going on land was still abhorrent to him. Something of this conflict must have shown on his face, because Pierre said, kindly, "Is it safe for you to stay anchored here?" He reflected guiltily that he wouldn't have had to ask had he not alerted the world to what The Nautilus was.

"As long as I leave before sunrise." Pierre nodded. It was a necessity, but they both knew it was also a safety net. It might have occured to Pierre to be wary, but Nemo's preliminary concessions put him enough at ease.

"With your permission, I'll come aboard. Conseil is back at my hotel."

"I see," Nemo replied, rather lamely. "Yes, that would be best then." He stepped back out of the way, debating for a fraction of a second offering Pierre his hand, but he stepped easily onto the deck, and Nemo just opened the hatch, allowing him to go inside first. As he climbed down the ladder, he experienced a powerful rush of nostalgia and pain. He'd been able to recall the companionway as clear as day in his mind and writing and sketches, but being here again, listening to his footsteps on the metal, smelling the familiar salty air, was different. It occurred to him, for nowhere near the first time, that he hadn't thought of The Nautilus as a prison, a place to be feared and escaped, until Nemo had withdrawn from him and they'd had their falling out. The hatch closed, plunging them into darkness as complete as the night outside, before the electric lights above them buzzed into life. "We can talk in the salon," said Nemo from behind him. Pierre nodded, and they headed down the companionway.

"Where are your crew?" Asked Pierre.

"In bed. Except for my chief officer," replied Nemo.

"Do they know…?"

"Yes," Nemo cut across him, gently. "I told them why we're here." Pierre felt heartened by both the knowledge and the fact that the Captain was actually telling him. They entered the salon, and the grief in his chest was knife sharp. It was exactly as he remembered it, the books, the art, the specimens, the organ, the open glass panels… "Would you like a drink?" Nemo asked, quietly.

"No thank you."

Nemo nodded and sat down on the couch. Pierre sat opposite him, straight backed with his hands in his lap, and they faced each other, Nemo attuned for any sign of distress from him as he debated what to say. He'd been planning for weeks (years, if he were honest with himself) what he'd say if they ever reconnected. In his mind (and in the pages of letters he'd written but hadn't ever intended to send) were stored tear soaked apologies and recognition of his own behavior, vitriolic rants that were sharp in his throat and, sometimes, even gut wrenching stories of his past. Unfortunately, now that the man himself was in front of him, no longer an object of obsession or longing but _real_ , mind and soul and body, he had absolutely no idea what to say. However, even as his mind blanked unhelpfully, one thing was clear: he couldn't keep hiding. He _wouldn't_ keep hiding. He'd be honest, and he'd maybe stem the whirlpool of grief continually depleting him rather than just fail to close it with inexpert sutures. But where on God's blue earth could they begin?! He looked into Professor Aronnax's face, his eyes, soft and observant and so, so blue.

"I must ask you," Pierre said, eventually, and Nemo crossed his arms in front of his chest, but listened intently. "How did you send me this?" He withdrew from his inner breast pocket the letter, folded neatly into thirds. He didn't sound angry, or even particularly interrogative. It was just a request for information.

"I got the address from your book."

"My what?" Asked Pierre, though he knew exactly what he was talking about. Nemo stared at him for a moment, then got to his feet with a sigh and went into his adjoining stateroom. Pierre's heart was pounding and he bit down on the inside of his lip, terrified of what was coming, while the split second glimpse of the austere interior of the stateroom made his breath catch in his throat. Fortunately, Nemo returned quickly, the book clutched to his chest. Pierre let out a soft gasp and locked eyes with Nemo, and it was as if the air in the room became heavier, denser, harder to breathe. However, Nemo didn't seem angry as he lay the book on the table in front of them, the embossed title and Pierre's own name almost painful on the eyes. _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea by Professor Pierre Aronnax._ "Where did you get this?"

"One of my crew found it on a derelict ship we encountered," replied Nemo, simply, crossing his arms once more in front of his chest.

"Oh…" Pierre's pounding heart swelled, constricting his lungs and throat. "I never-"

"Meant for me to see it?" Pierre tore his eyes away from the cover to look Nemo in the face again. His dark eyes softened, but Pierre couldn't help but feel afraid.

"I… Just never thought you would." He decided not to say how painful that was, instead asking, "Are you angry?"

"No," said Nemo, quietly, hating how frightened Pierre was and hating himself for making him feel that way. "Well, not anymore. I was at first, naturally, but," he paused, forcing himself not to hide. "Truthfully, I was just relieved to know you were alive." He closed his eyes, remembering, viscerally, the captain's quarters of the ghost ship, the young crewman exclaiming over the book and showing him the name and the publication date. "I thought for years that you'd been-" he cleared his throat and opened his eyes again. "Thinking you'd been killed in the maelstrom." Guilt and shame burned the inside of his chest, his throat and the corners of his eyes, but he didn't look away. "And that it was my fault." Pierre's eyes widened, and he had to resist another mad urge to embrace the Captain.

"It wouldn't have been your fault, even if we had been-" he swallowed. "I chose to leave."

"I left you no choice," Nemo corrected him. Pierre could think of no counterargument, so he sighed and looked down at the letter still in his hands.

"I didn't want to come here and berate you," he said. "You seem to be doing that enough yourself." Nemo looked down at the letter for a moment, then away. Pierre's stomach clenched guiltily as he realized that he'd expected Nemo to be angry at him for leaving, or at least obviously betrayed, but this was so much worse. He hated to see someone so proud and powerful, someone he'd respected and admired and- reduced to this, despondent and low and miserable. "Is this really what you've become?" Pierre asked, shakily. Nemo's gaze snapped to him again, and out of nowhere Pierre remembered the night of his escape, of passing Nemo at his organ, playing and crying. "Oh, Almighty God, enough! Enough!" And now all of that pain had distilled to this, to the man sitting in front of him, arms crossed and head tilted to the side, watching him with those soft, dark eyes. Pierre's heart stopped pounding abruptly, then seemed to shatter in his chest. His hands shook in his lap and his throat seared with the force of it. He'd wished him well at the end of his book, and he'd _meant_ it, but he hadn't been well at all, and he had no idea how he felt.

"Professor Aronnax?" Pierre bit down on the inside of his lip. "Would you be so good as to let me explain?" Pierre took a deep, shuddering breath, and nodded. Nemo also took a deep breath, gathering his courage and fighting all his instincts for self-containment and secrecy. "I don't say any of this to make you feel guilty. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Do you understand?" Pierre nodded. It had been what he'd told himself since his escape, what Conseil and Ned had told him. "Losing you devastated me, but I brought it upon myself. I kept you at a distance, I never explained things fully, I never wanted you to see-" but he broke off, and they both knew he was talking about the wreck of the Avenger. "I'm sorry," he said, and it felt bizarrely good to say it out loud and in person. "I'm so, so sorry." He swallowed the sudden burning in his throat. "Can you believe that?" Pierre stared into his eyes, still soft, and somehow clearer now.

"I can," he said, after a long pause. Nemo nodded. They both knew he hadn't explicitly asked for forgiveness.

"May I continue, then?"

"Yes." Nemo took another breath in.

"Before I met you, I was entirely convinced I knew or had known everyone worth knowing. That I could shut myself away comfortably without regret."

"You told me you were dead," interjected Pierre, quietly, unable to stop himself.

"I felt I was, but I was naive." Nemo sighed and switched the cross of his arms, deciding how much to tell on the spot. "I've spent most of my life shutting people out," he said, eventually. "Not getting close at all is easier than getting close and losing someone, I thought." He closed his eyes for a moment, and saw his mother and father, proud and noble and brave, his childhood friends from before he'd been sent abroad, his wife, smiling on their wedding day, his children, giggling and playing. He forced his eyes open, shuddering. "But isolation is painful," he said, doing his utmost to keep his voice steady. "And you were so worth knowing, I," but his voice shook, then died. Pierre leaned forward, wanting desperately to understand.

"Did that frighten you, Captain Nemo?" It felt practically blasphemous to even suggest such a thing, but again Nemo didn't seem angry. He considered the question, his expression one of contemplation and inquiry so deeply familiar to Pierre he might have asked him about the implications of a pressure reading. After what felt like a long time, he nodded. Pierre bit back the smallest of moans.

"You were always so observant," said Nemo in a constricted voice, trying valiantly for a smile. However, Pierre wasn't satisfied: gone were the days when Nemo could placate him with a compliment and a smile, and they both knew it.

"Why?" Pierre asked. "Why must you be so secretive? Why couldn't you just tell me everything?"

"You surely aren't asking me that after you published that book," Nemo shot back, before he could stop himself. Pierre's eyes widened, and Nemo's stomach lurched. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"No," Pierre interrupted, shaking his head and feeling rather mortified. "No, you're right. You're right." His stomach gave another guilty squeeze as he remembered pretending that publishing it was just to spread knowledge. "It hasn't put you in danger, has it?"

"No more than when the world thought my ship was a dangerous narwhal," replied Nemo, not unkindly. "But you know I can take care of myself." Pierre nodded, the gravity of what he'd done laying heavy in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it, his grief sharper than ever. "I betrayed whatever trust you might have given me."

"Admittedly it wasn't much," said Nemo. "I wanted to give you more, and I promise you I gave you what I could, but-" Again, he broke off. "I read the whole book, though."

"You did?"

"I did." He hesitated. "I could hear you in the words so clearly, even in the lists of flora and fauna, it… It was like we were together again, but then of course I lost you again." He swallowed and gathered his courage once more. "It was hard to see myself that way, to see in writing how badly I'd hurt you, but that was why I wanted to write to you. Even if you never responded, which I would have understood completely! Even if you never forgave me, which I also would understand, you'd at least know… You'd at least know that I regret it, and that I'm sorry! I owe you that much!" His voice had risen steadily throughout his explanation, and he was staring at Pierre so hard his gaze was practically burning. Now more words seemed to rise up from deep in that swirling black hole of grief in his chest, and he was powerless to stop them. "I never thought I'd see you again, and it'd be no one's fault but mine! The way I treated you and your companions was unacceptable, and I thought I'd killed you because of it! Or that you'd hate me forever, but then-" he snatched up the book, and Pierre watched, stunned, as he flipped feverishly through the pages. "But then I saw this! And I thought maybe all hope wasn't lost!" He cried, before reading aloud in a shaky voice, "May the hate be appeased in that fierce heart! May the contemplation of so many wonders extinguish forever the spirit of vengeance! May the judge disappear, and the philospher continue his peaceful exploration of the seas!" Nemo paused, his chest heaving, before forging bravely on. "If his destiny is strange, it is also… Sublime." He looked into Pierre's eyes, blinked, and at last tears slid down his face.

"Oh God…"

"Did you mean all of that? Was that sincere?" Pierre's lip trembled, but when he spoke, his voice was steady.

"Every word. I meant every word." Nemo's eyes filled once more with tears as he held the book to his chest. "I, I didn't want to leave," said Pierre, desperately. "But I had to!"

"You did," whispered Nemo, through his tears.

"I could have stayed, I told you I could have stayed, but for my companions-"

"I know," said Nemo.

"I wish I'd just spoken for myself!" Pierre continued, the words bitter. "I had, until I brought up Ned Land, oh I was so _stupid_ …"

"Enough," said Nemo, softly, his eyes brimming with tears again. "I understand why you said what you said, please." Pierre closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with a sigh. "You wished me well," said Nemo. "Even after everything that happened, you wished me well, and that meant the world to me." He wiped his eyes, and they fell into silence.

"I think I would like that drink after all," said Pierre, wearily, after a while. "If that's still-"

"Of course," said Nemo at once, wiping his eyes and placing the book back on the table as he got to his feet. Pierre tucked the letter back into his pocket, picked up the book and thumbed through the pages, noting Nemo's handwriting in the margins, his underlinings and his illustrations. He paused on the last page, and saw the final line was circled. ' _Captain Nemo, and myself._ ' Next to it was the tiny note, ' _I love you_.' Pierre stared hard at the words until his vision blurred with tears.

Across the room, Nemo poured two glasses of pure water, then added to each a drop of liquor distilled from North Sea sugar kelp. He tried to dry his eyes, but now he'd started crying it seemed impossible to stop, especially as he remembered that very conversation in which Pierre had asked for freedom for himself and his companions. The fear he'd been harboring since getting trapped at the South Pole had transformed, almost alchemically, into a corrosive anger. He'd lashed out, treated the man he cared about so deeply with coldness and contempt. ' _He cared too, he told me so, he just wanted me to let him in,_ ' he thought. It was so obvious in retrospect. Repressing a sob, he picked up the glasses and returned to the couch. He found Pierre cradling the book like a baby in his arms, his face now shining with tears. Nemo's stomach lurched again, causing more tears to pour down his own face. "What's happened? Are you-"

"I'm fine," replied Pierre, thickly, though in truth he was unsure exactly what he was feeling. He'd been wondering, since his escape, and here the answer was in Nemo's writing, on their story now neatly bound in embossed leather. His heart and lungs worked painfully against the grieving shard in his chest, but somehow this knowledge seemed to be softening its sharp edges like sea glass. He swallowed, wiped his eyes again, and reached for one of the glasses Nemo was holding. He took a sip, and he could taste the ocean, the ethanol, the nostalgia, the association, and let out a choked cry.

"Professor Aronnax!" Nemo cried, but again,

"No no, I'm all right, I just never thought I'd have this again," said Pierre, regaining control of himself. He took another sip, and the warmth kindled comfortingly in his chest. He managed a weak smile, which Nemo tried and mostly succeeded in returning.

"I see." He drank some himself, and it seemed to disappear into the vacuous, yawning grief in his chest. However, he felt hesitantly heartened by Pierre's smile. Hesitantly.

"How did you manage to mail me the letter, once you knew how to contact me?" Asked Pierre, and Nemo was grateful to be able to explain more.

"One of my crew smuggled it onto a mail steamer," he replied, softly.

"Oh… I don't know why I expected something more complicated." He took another sip of his drink.

' _Because I tend to complicate things for myself?_ " Nemo thought, less unkindly than he'd usually have done. There was a question he wanted to ask Pierre, that he'd been wondering since discovering the book, but it didn't seem right to ask yet, if ever. So instead, "Professor Aronnax?"

"Yes, Captain?" Nemo took a fortifying sip of his drink, gathering his courage.

"Had it ever occurred to you to come back? Before you received my letter?" Pierre sighed and stroked the book's cover, then looked Nemo hard in the face. His blue eyes were suddenly intense, almost hot, but no less beautiful.

"Of course," he said, softly, as though it were obvious. Nemo was still crying silently, and Pierre saw his shuddering gasp, but pressed on. "I grieved for you too, but," he cleared his throat. "I couldn't look for you. I think you'll agree it would have been too dangerous." Nemo looked down into his glass and tears slid off the end of his nose.

"Far too dangerous." He swallowed, then after a moment's silence looked up at Pierre. "You grieved too?"

"Of course!" Cried Pierre, stung. "Captain Nemo, I-" but he paused and took a hasty sip of his drink, then set his glass upon the table. "I didn't include _everything_ in the book for obvious reasons, but surely you didn't forget-"

"No! How could," but he paused too and took deep breaths, trying to remain as calm as possible. They stared at each other, and the question Nemo had wanted to ask seemed to hang in the air between them again. Was Pierre wondering the same thing? However, Nemo just set his glass upon the table, then asked something else, and it came out in an unintended, hurt snap. "Do you think what we had was something I entered into lightly? That it was still easy to keep all my secrets from you as things progressed?"

"No!" Cried Pierre, horrorstruck, but once again, Nemo felt the words rising up from the void of grief in his chest, painful and unstoppable.

"I couldn't ignore my feelings for you, I knew that from the _start_! And it felt _good_ being with you, I hadn't… Not in years! I hadn't wanted to! But you were different! But then we got trapped at the South Pole, and I almost let you die! Let you and my crew, everyone I still had in the world left to care about, _die_!" He took a shuddering breath and cried without restraint, his arms shaking as he wrapped them around himself as if in vain attempt to hold himself together.

"I'm sorry!" Exclaimed Pierre, who was also crying. "I didn't-"

"Stop! Don't apologize, please!" Gasped Nemo, unable to control his crying but pressing on, needing Pierre to understand. "My feelings for you never changed! How could they?! Not after everything we talked about, after discovering the South Pole together, after Atlantis!" Even through their crying, both of them remembered clearly the underwater hike up the mountain, the wondrous sunken city, then returning to The Nautilus, and… "I _never_ expected to meet someone like you, much less under these circumstances, after years of hardening my heart and swearing off other people! But you were _different_ , so brilliant and astute and loving and I had no idea what to do, and…" Nemo closed his eyes against the geyser of emotion inside him, terrifyingly out of his control. "I wanted you to stay, I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, but then-"

"You pushed me away even when I begged you to let me in," said Pierre, his throat burning and entire body shaking.

"Yes," said Nemo, forcing his eyes open, more tears pouring down his face. "And I am so, so sorry for how I treated you. For holding you hostage here, for not being honest with you and for pushing you away. I am truly, absolutely sorry, and I never thought I'd see you again to be able to make amends."

"Oh God…" Without thinking, Pierre finally gave in and threw his arms around Nemo's neck, the book falling from his lap onto the floor. Nemo gasped, then sagged against Pierre, crying unrestrainedly into his shoulder. It was there, it was all there. Their first meal together and tour of The Nautilus, the Atlantis trip, the South Pole, conducting experiments, trading stories and theories, every stolen, glorious moment together. Pierre was crying too, his arms shaking where they held Nemo, the hard shard of grief in his chest finally melting, rushing out through his entire body in a flood of emotion. How long they stayed there, they had no idea, until eventually, Pierre pulled away and held Nemo's face in his hands. They stared at each other through wet, swollen eyes. "I'm here," said Pierre, as steadily as he could. "My feelings haven't changed either." Nemo let out a shuddering gasp, hardly daring to believe it. "So please," Pierre rubbed his thumbs under Nemo's eyes. "Will you tell me about yourself?" Nemo shivered, the weight of his past heavy in his chest, but Pierre's words and support gave him the courage to do what he had to do. He placed his hand gently on Pierre's wrist.

"Come with me." They got to their feet, and Pierre followed Nemo into his stateroom. Clean and austere as he remembered, its coldness broken up only by the etchings on the wall. They stopped in front of the largest portrait, of a youthful woman with a beautiful face and sharp, intelligent features, and a little boy and girl, both of whom, Pierre noticed, had inherited Nemo's eyes.

"Your family," said Pierre, wiping his own eyes to see more clearly. Nemo nodded. He wished he could just show Pierre the manuscript of his life story in French, let him know everything without actually having to say it, but he knew that wouldn't be enough. He gathered his courage yet again.

"We married after I returned to India, my birthplace, after I'd completed my education abroad." He took a deep breath in and sighed it out. "When I was still called Prince Dakkar."

Pierre drew breath, but listened with rapt attention, as Nemo described his noble birth under British rule- well, that explained a great deal already! His education in Europe and America- could they possibly have been in Paris at the same time? The rebellion, and of course, his imprisonment and murders of his family- Pierre felt Nemo's grief and guilt, vacuous and soul sucking, in his own body, and understood how his building of The Nautilus, his seeking of both knowledge and vengeance, his desire to help those under oppressive rules, were all his way of coping with it, of trying to fill that whirlpool in his chest.

' _Or, more likely, of running from it,_ ' Pierre thought, his heart breaking for the man he still loved. He didn't interrupt once, for which Nemo was grateful because it was easier to keep going once he'd gotten started, to suppurate that great wound in his soul in one go. _Ubi pus, ibi evacua_. Once he brought them up to his disappearing beneath the waves for what he thought was forever, though, he stopped, suddenly exhausted, and sank onto his bed, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. He felt strangely empty for telling the story, as though the vortex inside him had somehow expanded, or no… He was just no longer trying to fill it with something. Vengeance, scientific inquiry, another person… None of it would work, and he knew that now. He began to cry again, hard, gasping sobs that only disappeared into the void in his chest.

Pierre hesitated a fraction of a second, then came to sit beside him, his own heart throbbing painfully, but more freely than it had in years. After another moment's hesitation, he placed his hand on his upper back. "Thank you for telling me," he whispered. Nemo managed to straighten up and look at him, his face glazed with tears.

"I'm sorry it took me so long." Pierre tucked a strand of Nemo's hair behind his ear.

"I've never experienced anything close to the horror that you did, so anything I want to say feels," but he just swallowed and shook his head.

"There's nothing to say," said Nemo, simply. A long silence passed between them. Eventually, Nemo pulled up the left sleeve of his jacket, revealing a scar on his wrist. "You asked me about this after Atlantis." Pierre nodded, remembering lying beside Nemo in his old stateroom, spent and entangled under the covers.

"You told me it was from an accident when constructing The Nautilus."

"I did," sighed Nemo. "It was actually from a restraint. From when I was in prison." Pierre felt his heart break yet again.

"Oh, Nemo…" He closed his eyes in relief at hearing his name without the title again.

"I should have just told you everything then. I'm sorry, Pierre." He opened his eyes, and they stared at each other for another long moment before embracing again. Nemo buried his face in Pierre's neck with a little shudder, the void in his chest not filling, but definitely shrinking. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes?" They broke apart to look at each other properly again.

"Would you ever come back?" Pierre had expected this, and even knowing what he knew now, he still had no idea how to respond. "Not like last time," said Nemo at once. "For short stretches. As a colleague. Another explorer." Pierre closed his eyes for a moment.

"If," he said, slowly, opening them again. "And only if, things will be different. If we're really and truly equals. If you're honest with me and still allow me my freedom. Anything less is not acceptable." Nemo had expected this, and was glad to hear it.

"You have my word." They both knew he meant it, and the promise swirled around them like a warm summer breeze. "Not tonight, obviously, but maybe in a few months, you'd be willing to take another trip with me?" Nemo asked, hesitantly, after a moment.

"Where?" Pierre asked, with the merest trace of excitement.

"To the Pacific?" Nemo offered, cautiously optimistic. "I discovered this incredible hydrothermal vent by the Mariana Islands with the most amazing specimens, I thought of you the moment we came upon them." Pierre's face broke into the first genuine smile he'd worn since coming back on board, and Nemo's heart swelled so fast it was enough to make him dizzy. Pierre's own heart pounded against his ribs, and he placed his hand tenderly on the side of Nemo's face. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Nemo gently lay his hand on Pierre's knee. They both still felt the same, and now… They leaned forward and kissed softly on the lips. Nemo shivered, and his eyes filled with tears again.

"I'd love to," said Pierre, when they broke apart. Nemo smiled a watery smile, then pulled Pierre into an embrace. They held each other close, and again, it was all there, except now they were in an equal place, an honest place. Then, at the same time, they both remembered that they were on the edge of a bed, and though the thought of Pierre staying over occurred to both of them…

"You should probably go back, Conseil will worry," said Nemo, pulling away. Pierre just nodded.

They stood up and headed back through the salon, down the companionway and back up on deck. It had stopped raining, but the sky was that deepest dark that heralded sunrise. The only light came from The Nautilus's open hatch. They faced each other one last time, and Pierre took Nemo's hands in his own. "Are you heading back out to the ocean?" He asked.

"I'm not sure."

"Well then," Pierre gave his hands a squeeze. "Could I see you again? Tomorrow night? Before I return to Paris? We can talk about the Pacific." Nemo brought Pierre's hands to his mouth and kissed each of his knuckles.

"I'd love that." They kissed once more on the lips, and Nemo rested his forehead against Pierre's. "Until tomorrow, then." They stayed there a moment longer, sharing breath and energy, until Pierre pulled away, stepped carefully back onto the pier and disappeared into the darkness.

Nemo closed his eyes, crossed his arms in front of his chest, took a deep breath of salty night air and exhaled in a soft moan. His whole body felt empty of everything except warm, glowing space. He couldn't believe it, but there it was, and he felt more relieved and grateful than he perhaps ever had in his life.

He went back inside, told his chief officer to set a course for the Atlantic, though not to stray too far, and returned to his stateroom. He got undressed and fell into bed, exhausted, but finally able to rest, the yawning, grieving void in his chest quiet for the first time in years.

* * *

Pierre made his way back to his hotel in a kind of haze, his mind and body and heart all realing, but he felt happier than he had done in a very long time. He floated back through the tiny lobby and up the stairs to his and Conseil's adjoining rooms. Conseil was asleep, judging by the fact that there was no light on under his door, but Pierre wouldn't have disturbed him even if he'd been awake. Right now he wanted to be alone with his feelings, his thoughts and his plans.

Back in his room, he undressed in that same, happy haze and fell into bed, sinking gloriously into the warmth of the mattress, the shard of grief in his chest finally excised.

That night, they both dreamed of Atlantis.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you all think? I'm still a little conflicted, honestly, but I did the best I could and I'm glad they both went to sleep happy! Still thinking about Atlantis myself, honestly...
> 
> I think of comments and kudos when I summon my kekkai, leave me some!


End file.
